


The Raven Queen in the North

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Robb Stark meets strange Lucienne Blackwood and the world changes.——————self-insert shown from the perspective of canon characters
Relationships: Robb Stark/OFC
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

The colossal weirwood tree of Raventree Hall provides a brief respite of shade from the southern sun. Robb can’t imagine how dreadful it must be in Dorne. The Riverlands are almost too unbearable. He hasn’t been gone three moons and he’s already missing the snow dusted walls of Winterfell.

“It’s nice to see a bit of home,” Smalljon says.

Robb eyes the weirwood. It’s frightening to see a living thing so big. It’s taller than all except the oldest tower of Winterfell. He can almost understand why the Andals hated them so much. That tree owns the earth. They can call themselves kings and lords all they like. They will die and their corpses will nourish trees like that.

“I pity the raven boys,” Greatjon says.

“The what?” Robb asks.

His mother sighs. “There are so many ravens roosting in the tree that the Blackwoods hire boys from town to clean the droppings.”

Robb decides he pities them as well.

“Well it can’t smell like manure, can it?” Greatjon reasons.

“I dunno. All that shit in one place,” Theon speculates.

Theon barely escapes a chastisement with the sight of riders trotting from the gates. One is a tall young lord with black hair. His eyes are just as dark. A girl with pale blonde hair, the same raven eyes, and a hooked nose pulls up beside him. Robb can’t help but stare. She’s dressed in leathers stained black and a raven is perched on her shoulder. She and the raven stare back with an eerie penetrating gaze.

“Lord Stark,” the man says, bowing in the saddle. “I am Brynden Blackwood. I cannot begin to express my gratitude. We are prepared for a siege, but with the war and approaching winter it’s best to save our stores for as long as possible.”

“Winter is coming,” Robb agrees, not quite able to resist a smug grin. 

“NIGHT! Night!” The raven caws.

Everyone turns to stare at the girl and her bird. She cuts it an unamused look. It merely tilts its head to the side.

“You’ll have to forgive my companion,” she says. Her voice is surprisingly feminine for such a fierce looking girl. “He’s very dramatic.”

“Just like his master,” Brynden Blackwood murmurs. “My lords, Lady Catelyn, this is Lady Lucienne Blackwood. My little sister, the second born of us six. She will be joining my father in Riverrun.”

Robb’s company startles at that. Noble ladies- other than the Mormonts, that is- simply do not run off to war. Not with their father’s permission, especially. She’s dressed for the task and her saddle is laden with the regular journey essentials. They’ve prepared for this. Robb can’t imagine sending Sansa or Arya off in such a way.

“Is that a weirwood bow?” Theon asks, his voice incredulous.

Robb cranes his neck. He can’t see anything.

“Yes. I’ve got arrows as well, but I’m saving those for the Others.”

The men chuckle. She does not.

“You any good with that?” Greatjon demands.

“Well, I couldn’t get a clear shot at Tywin Lannister, but I felled sixteen of his men.”

“We’re always in need of good archers,” Robb offers. He almost immediately regrets speaking. Those eyes of hers are unbearable. It’s like she’s looking in to his very soul, like she knows him and pities him for it.

“I’m no Bloodraven, but I suppose I’ll do.”

“Shit. Shit!” The raven argues.

At those words, the girl nearly rips the bird from her arm. It squawks once over its wing before ascending into the clear sky. 

“You’ll have to excuse that raven. We’ve been trying to get rid of it for six years,” the Blackwood heir says, watching as the bird diminishes into a black speck. “I’ll have no doubt it’s headed to Riverrun.”

Robb’s brow furrows. He looks the girl over again. He’d figured if there was anyone else like him, they would be on the other side of the Wall or in the Neck. He’d never thought of finding another skinchanger in the south. Robb nudges at that warm presence in his chest. He feels Grey Wind perk his ears in curiosity, then follow their strange bond.

“You’re not the only one with a sigil for your companion,” Robb says, just as his direwolf crests the hill.

Neither Blackwood is surprised, though Lord Brynden reveals a bit of wonder. The Lady’s lips quirk into a half smile. She’s got quite pretty lips, he realizes. They help balance out her wide eyes and her wicked nose.

“We’re not the only ones, Robb Stark. Danaerys Targaryen still lives. The red comet will herald dragons, mark my words,” she says.

Theon snorts. “You mean to tell me that some girl is hatching dragons across the Narrow Sea? Next I’ll have a kraken.”

Lucienne Blackwood turns her full attention on him. Her brother reaches out to place one hand on hers. Her predatory gaze softens just a bit.

“There will be a red comet. You can decide what that means for yourself. But you of all people should not discount magic, kin of Euron Greyjoy.”

The men go eerily quiet. Robb doesn’t know much about Theon’s uncles. He’d only been taught about Balon and his techniques, and that Victarion is a capable brute. It suddenly doesn’t seem like enough.The Ironborn never pass on a chance at war.

“Oh, this is terrible,” the girl suddenly says. “I’m not usually so droll but I’ve been cooped up in that castle for too long. Forgive me brother, but I must depart before I go mad. I need to feel the wind on my face.”

Her brother squeezes her hand. “Be safe, sister.”

“And you! Don’t let the Brackens bother you too much. I’m off to bully myself into the archers.” She bowed as much as she could before galloping off to join the column of men.

“Lord Robb, I thank you again,” Lord Brynden says. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”

“Thank you, Lord Brynden.”

Robb’s party stalls long after the Blackwoods leave.

“An odd bunch,” Eddard Karstark says.

Lady Catelyn cranes her neck to look up at the weirwood tree. “I might worship the Seven, but I know the Old Gods are real. I’ve felt them watch me in the Godswood. I get the same feeling from that girl and her raven. Keep her close, Robb. She may prove to be a blessing or a curse, but she’s sent from your gods either way.”

Riverrun is beautiful. It doesn’t boast the same intimidating stoicism as Winterfell, but is impressive nonetheless. The river is an ever-present lullaby. It sings to them even after the gates are lowered. It will never be home, but Robb thinks he will like it here.

His ruminations are cut off by a blur of black and blonde. Lucienne Blackwood runs into the arms of a man who can be none other than her father. Both share the same black eyes, tall frame, and hooked nose. They are near mirror images of each other. Robb aches for his own father, longs to be held and looked over for injuries. His mother seems to sense his sudden melancholy. She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder.

“He’s watching over you, Robb. He’s proud of you.”

Robb isn’t sure of that, but he’ll do everything he can to make his father proud. To make all of the Starks proud. Grey Wind lumbers over to nudge his wet nose against Robb’s elbow. The surrounding crowd breaks out into a murmur.

“Nephew! I’m so pleased to meet you!” A handsome man with red hair calls out.

Robb steps forward to clasp his uncle’s arm in greeting. The gathered crowd takes it as a cue to disperse. A broad shouldered man in black scaled armor joins them, eyeing the lingering direwolf with interest.

“Uncle Brynden. It’s an honor,” Robb says honestly. He grew up with stories of the Blackfish like every other boy in Westeros. It’s surreal to see him standing tall with Robb’s own blue eyes and curly hair.

“You might look like a Tully, but I’ve got a feeling it’s all Stark ice underneath. Come inside, nephew. We’ve got a war to win.”

“Of course, Uncle. Lead the way.”

As Robb follows his uncles through wide, stone passages, he can’t help but notice Lucienne Blackwood scowling at something in an alcove. It’s her raven.

“Snow,” it says.

“I won’t bring you in if you can’t keep your opinions to yourself,” she warns.

“Shit! Shit!” It argues.

“Lord Stark,” a deep voice says.

Both Robb and Lucienne startle. Lord Tytos Blackwood is as tall as Robb. It’s easy to forget how tall he truly is when he’s surrounded by Umbers and Catelyn Stark. Most women are of a height with his mother’s chest. Most. Certainly not this one.

“Hello, Lord Stark,” Lucienne greets, curtsying in her leathers. What a strange girl.

“Hello again, my lady. It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Tytos. My father spoke of you often,” Robb says.

It’s not entirely a lie. Eddard Stark hardly spoke of the wars, but when he did, he mentioned Lord Tytos with respect. If Lord Tytos suspects the truth, he doesn’t show it.

“Your father was a good man. I would have volunteered even if the Riverlands were not threatened.”

Robb sighs. “To me, he was just Father. He was never the man that I’ve learned so much about on this journey.”

“I disagree, Lord Robb,” Lady Lucienne says. The raven flies from its window to her shoulder as she steps closer. “He rode across the continent for his sister. He faced one of the best warriors this continent has ever seen for his sister. I’d wager you saw the truest part of him.”

Robb turns this over in his mind. He thinks of his own sisters. They Lannisters have alreadymurdered his father. What will they do to fierce Arya? To sweet little Sansa?

“Lord Stark, the men will be waiting,” Lord Tytos interrupts gently.

“Of course,” Robb says.

They take several steps before Robb realizes the girl hasn’t joined them. He looks back to find her watching her father.

“Aren’t you coming?” Robb asks.

She smiles, revealing the whitest teeth he’s seen on anyone besides Queen Cersei.

“There’s no point. I already know what’s going to happen.”

“King! King!” The raven croaks.

A chill run downs Robb’s spine. He can’t look away, even after she’s disappeared down the corridor.

Robb finds her in the Godswood. She’s in an oak tree of all places, staring up at the red comet amongst the stars. She’s not beautiful. To call her such would be an insult. She’s striking. She seems one with the wilderness, like it was she that called the flora and fauna from the earth.

Robb leans against her tree. He has to fight the urge to reach up and wrap his hand around her thigh, to feel if her body is as hard and muscles as he thinks it is. He saw her with that bow in the battle. Even a woman as tall as she is shouldn’t have the strength to wield it.

“I thought you were a skinchanger,” he says. “You’re more than that aren’t you?”

“I am many things, just as you.” She sounds amused.

Robb is the eldest of six. He knows when someone is skirting around an answer. He’s patient enough to get one 

“You’re something,” he says, looking up at the comet. She’s been right by two counts thus far. A king and a comet.

“I’m a skinchanger,” she admits. “And a greenseer. It’s been in my family for generations. Do you remember Bloodraven?”

“A thousand eyes and one,” Robb murmurs.

“He was half a dragon. His gifts were a bit exaggerated, to say the least. Magic runs as deep in that family as it does yours.”

Robb thinks about what she said earlier, about the comet and Danaerys Targaryen. “So a greenseer sees the future? Is that it?”

There’s a rustling of leaves and leather and she’s suddenly on the ground with him. She holds his gaze with her own terrible one.

“You will hate me, Robb Stark. You will curse the day you met me.”

Robb jumps when something touches his foot. A snake, as dark as the shadows it came from, curls around his calf. He tries to kick it off, but it just hisses. It’s scales shine in the moonlight as it’s muscles bunch and relax, bunch and relax. It’s darting tongue gets closer and closer with each movement.

“The raven isn’t yours,” he realizes, his mind whirring.

Tentatively, he reaches down to the snake, allowing its cool body to slither against his hands. He raises it high to let it look him in the eye and test his scent. It hisses softly, slithering up his arm to curl around his shoulders. He glances over to see Lucienne scowling at the both of them.

“An admirable attempt at intimidation, my lady,” he says with a smirk. “It might work on one of your southern fools, but I’m of the North. I’m the _King_ of the North. I know a venomous snake when I see one. She’s impressive, but she’s no match for a direwolf.”

Lady Lucienne shoots him one last glower before stomping off into the trees. Robb tries to be a gentlemen, he truly does, but can’t resist watching her walk away.


	2. Chapter 2

Catelyn studies Lucienne Blackwood. She’s a bit plain, but as clever as her sigil and undoubtedly feminine despite her leather trousers and calloused hands. Catelyn yearns for Arya. This woman is a noble lady raised to kill men. Would Arya have been safe if Catelyn hadn’t been so adamant about raising her girls to be proper? Are Lucienne Blackwood or Dacey Mormont any less proper than Cersei Lannister?

“I beg a private audience, Your Grace,” she announces.

Theon doesn’t snicker, but his desire to is evident for all to see. Several of the men shift in their seats. Catelyn understands what is happening. It happens in every social circle. The odd one out must prove themselves. Lord Tytos understands. He does not move from his spot against the wall. Robb understands too. He will not make this easy for her.

“Anything you can ask of me, you can ask in front of my men,” he declares.

“I do not ask anything of you,” she says. Then, wincing, she remembers to add, “Your Grace.”

“I love a demanding woman,” Theon sighs wistfully. The hall chuckles.

Lady Lucienne finally turns her raven gaze onto the Greyjoy heir. Catelyn almost feels sorry for him.

“You didn’t love it when I had an arrow shoved against your neck two days ago. This is my second warning, Theon Greyjoy: Leave me be or I will ask the ravens to peck out your eyes. I will not give you a third.”

Theon pales and shoots to his feet. He hops from the dais. Lord Tytos pushes himself off the wall. Catelyn’s chest tightens. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected blood to be shed. Before she can intervene, a raven caws. Then another. And another. They swoop in to settle on the windowsills, black sentinels against the piercing blue water. More join until almost ten birds are glaring at Theon with beady eyes.

“SNOW! SNOW!” The first one screeches.

“Snow.”

“Snow!”

“Snow!”

Theon gapes, wide eyed at the torrent of cries.

“Enough!” Robb shouts.

The raven cease their racket immediately. Catelyn shudders. Several of the men follow suit.

“I’ll not allow you to disrespect Lady Blackwood, Theon. It seems the Old Gods will not either. Everyone leave us. That includes you, Lord Tytos.”

A screeching symphony of chairs echoes through the hall.

“Wait. My council remains. And you, Mother.”

Catelyn watches carefully as Lord Tytos nods at his daughter, then strides out with the other lords. He is on the hunt for a kraken no doubt. She hopes Theon is smart enough to make himself absent for a few hours.

“Lady Blackwood, please take a seat.”

Robb’s council sit around the long table: Maege Mormont, Greatjon Umber, Jason Mallister, Roose Bolton, and the Tully’s. It is clear to all but Edmure that he is present only because it is expected of his nephew. Lady Lucienne eyes them all with suspicion, but pulls out a chair across from Robb nonetheless. One of the ravens swoops in to perch on its back. Robb studies her face and Catelyn wants to curse. She knows her son. She knows that glint in his eye isn’t just curiosity. It’s hunger. It’s longing.

“These are my advisors, Lady Lucienne. I know what you mean to tell me and I can not act alone.”

She purses her lips, eyes glancing to Roose Bolton before settling on Robb.

“Where is Grey Wind?” She asks accusatorially.

He raises a brow. “Where is your snake?”

“She’s watching a spy, if you must know.”

Uncle Brynden crosses his arms. “We cannot advise if we do not understand. Stop speaking in riddles or let us leave. There are other things that require my attention.”

“The girl is a skinchanger,” Roose Bolton says in his soft voice. “I though it was the ravens but our king has discovered a secret. A snake, you say? Fitting.”

“That’s not the only secret I’ve discovered. She’s a greenseer, Lord Bolton. Apparently it runs in the family.”

Bolton inhales sharply. He edges away from the girl as if he’d announced she carries greyscale. “Snow,” the bird croaks quietly. “Snow, Snow.”

“Cat? What’s a greenseer?” Edmure asks.

It is Lord Bolton that answers, surprising everyone. “It is a gift, or perhaps a curse, passed down from the Children of the Forest. As Children, they created the Heart Trees and sent beasts after men. It was they who flooded the Neck. Humans, however, do not have such magic. They are skinchangers, yes, but they share a connection with Heart Trees that none of us can understand.”

“What? What does that mean, Cat?” Edmure asks.

Catelyn has to breathe several times to cool her temper. Her brother is a well meaning fool, but a fool nonetheless. “I wouldn’t know, Edmure. I worship the Seven, as well you know.”

“I won’t tell this many people. I refuse,” Lady Lucienne says.

“I am your King,” Robb argues, a bit of steel in his voice.

“Loose lips sink ships, Robb Stark.”

Jason Mallister ducks his head to cover his amusement.

“I trust my council, Lucienne Blackwood.”

She presses her lips until they are thin like. The raven reaches down to peck at her ash blonde hair. “Fine. On your own head be it.”

She takes a deep breath and stares Robb in the eye. “I’ve seen everything that’s ever happened in front of a Heart Tree. I’ve seen everything that will happen in this war and the ones after it.”

Silence reigns for two beats. Edmure breaks it with a laugh.

“You can’t be serious. You can’t believe this!”

His amusement dies under their scrutiny.

“Seven hells! Have you all gone mad?”

“I worship the Seven, Edmure, but I know the Old Gods are real. I’ve lived under them for nigh on twenty years. I do not doubt the girl,” Catelyn says.

“There are direwolves south of the Wall,” Greatjon says, as if this explains everything.

“The wildlings are crossing the Wall in droves. They’re afraid of something,” Lady Maege adds.

“Magic existed once,” Brynden says thoughtfully. “Maybe the girl’s mad. Maybe she’s a liar. Maybe she’s not. She still might have something useful to say. It won’t hurt to hear her out.”

The girl in question loses all the steel in her spine. She slumps in her seat and stares mournfully up at the ceiling.

“Shit. Shit.” The raven caws, almost lovingly.

“Oh fuck off, you feathered son of a bitch.”

There’s no heat behind her vulgar curses, but Catelyn startles all the same. She looks up in time to see Robb’s lips twitch.

“The Children still exist,” Lady Lucienne finally says. “They live in a cave far above the Wall. Because of that, they can’t communicate directly. Ravens are clever and mobile, yet have a simple mind. I once read they’re capable of learning up to forty words, but this asshole can only manage about five.”

“So you’re speaking to the Children of the Forest?” Mormont asks, her voice tinged with incredulity.

“In a way. It is not so altruistic. I am an investment and they must protect their investment. I tried to run away once and they nearly pecked my little brother’s eyes out. They were pacifists once, but the First Men made them into something else. As is the way of the world.”

“Why did they invest in you? Why not anyone else?” Bolton asks.

“If you’re asking why they didn’t choose a Bolton, you should save your breath. We both know the answer to that question, Leech Lord.”

Bolton goes very, very still. Lady Lucienne pins him with her raven gaze. “You had best find a wife because one day I will make your bastard rue the day you raped his mother.”

“Luciennne!” Robb barks, but he is drowned out by the raven screeching ‘SNOW!’ at the top of its lungs.

Bolton raises his hand until the bird quiets. He stares at Lady Blackwood long enough for even the Blackfish to twitch nervously. Eventually, the two must come to a silent agreement, because they nod and turn their gazes else where. Bolton, gods save them all, looks contemplative.

“Right, so what’s all this got to do with the war?” The Greatjon interrupts. His shit eating grin reveals his amusement. “Why would the Children bother.”

“Because the sooner we finish this war, the sooner we can help them.”

Robb raises an eyebrow. “The Children need help?”

“Yes. There are only a few of them left and the Wall cuts off most of their magic.”

“What do they need help with?” Jason Mallister wonders.

“Whatever the Wildling are running from. Whatever sent that direwolf south of the Wall,” Lady Maege interjects.

“Yes,” Lady Blackwood admits slowly. “But that doesn’t really matter yet. We can’t help them until this war is over.”

Uncle Brynden nods approvingly. “Wise words. What can you tell us about this war?”

The girl shifts in her seat. “Well. Robb loses.”

Robb does not balk. He does not cower. He leans forward, captivated. “How?”

“Um. Well. The Freys work with Tywin Lannister to break guest rights. Please don’t make me tell you. It’s really, really fucked up. And I’ve seen some fucked up things in the Godswoods, let me tell you.”

“But why? They could have a royal bloodline,” Catelyn cries.

She grimaces. “They’re greedy, despicable creatures. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about creating some kind of wildfire bomb and just wiping them out. It would save the North a lot of trouble.”

Everyone stares at her, disquieted.

“Where would we get wildfire?” Roose Bolton asks.

Dear gods, Catelyn thinks, he’s impressed.

“King’s Landing. You should ask Jaime Lannister about it.”

“We are not blowing up the Twins,” Robb says, rubbing his eyes wearily. “We’ve digressed. Are Sansa and Arya safe?”

“No.”

Catelyn anguished cry echoes across the hall. She peers at her son, her king desperately. His face is hard and pale, blue eyes like ice under his iron crown.

“Explain,” he orders.

“Arya escaped. She saw Ned-...She ran into a man from the Night’s Watch when your father was murdered. He recognized her, cut her hair, and smuggled her out of the city. Only things in the Riverlands are awful, as we all know, and they come across the Mountain. She doesn’t die. I’ve never seen her death. I’ve seen what seems like everyone else’s, but never hers. She finds a place in Essos and eventually comes home and slaughters the Freys, but...”

“She is not safe,” Robb finishes in a whisper. “And we’d never find her. We’d never find a boy running through the kingdom.”

“Sansa! What about Sansa?” Cat demands.

The girl cringes. “The Kingsguard beat her with every victory you win. She escapes King Landing eventually, but death might be quicker. She eventually becomes Queen with help from Jon Snow.”

“That bastard?”

“Snow! SNOW!”

Lady Lucienne eyes her coldly. “Yes. Jon Snow is a better person than you or I could ever hope to be. He wants nothing but to see everyone safe. He dies doing just that. I will never forgive you for all the hate you’ve shown him.”

“Snow! SNOW! SNOW!”

“Enough! You will not speak of my sister-“

“Snow! King! KING!”

“Your sister is a bitch! She knows it. She knows what-”

“Leave us this moment or I will strike you-“

“KING SNOW! KING SNOW! KING SNOW!”

“He was never a bastard, Catelyn Tully. He learns he was never a bastard and he still lets Sansa have the crown. Think of that and all the prayers you’ve-“

“SILENCE!” Robb thunders. 

“It’s true, Robb,” Catelyn croaks, struggling to control her sobs. “She speaks true. I am not a good woman. O-once...”

Catelyn shudders. Perhaps if she confesses she will finally be free of the guilt.

“Once I looked down at his crib and prayed for the gods to take him, to make him die. He-he got the pox. And I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. So I begged all seven gods, I promised that if he lived I would be a mother to him. I would beg his Father to give him a true name and be done with it.” Catelyn looks down at her hands. They used to be beautiful once. Now her knuckles are growing knobbly and her veins are prominent. “He lived, but I could never keep my promise. And I wonder if all of this horror is because I could not love a motherless child.”

The room is silent, accusing. Condemning. Robb does not comfort her. Edmure does not speak in her defense. Catelyn stands, her chair screaming in the silence, and runs to her dying father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read between the lines, Bloodraven is really the one talking to her in the ravens but Lucienne knows that’s even more unbelievable than speaking to the Children, so she lies


	3. Chapter 3

Robb watches his mother leave with dismay. He knew she hated him, of course he knew, but to hear it so blatantly is another thing. He aches for Jon. Theon is his friend, his brother in all but name, but Jon is blood. He doesn’t remember a life without him.

Uncle Edmure stands, bows swiftly, and follows his sister out of the room.

“Your Grace, should we disperse?” Maege asks.

“Of course not. We’re here about war, not family disputes,” Greatjon says.

“My uncle is right,” Robb finally says. Better to get this over with than dragging it out. “Continue.”

The story she weaves is a terrible one. Worry and guilt and fear build themselves with each word she speaks. He believes her. She’s lying about something and hiding even more, but she isn’t lying about this. Not about Theon. He doesn’t understand it, but he’s been loved, unlike Theon. Unlike Jon.

“And what makes Jon leave the wall? He would never abandon his vow.”

“He dies. Do you remember the Red Woman I told you about?”

Robb sighs. “She brings him back? Like Lady Stoneheart?”

“It wasn’t his choice. He almost killed them all when he awoke. They killed Shireen Baratheon for it. They burned her alive.”

“Seven hells,” Jason Mallister curses. “Seven bleeding hells.”

“It wasn’t right. I don’t know if I could do it, but they needed Jon. Who else could lead them? I don’t believe in the prophecy, but I can’t deny it was a bit true for them.”

Bolton squints at the raven, then at the girl. Robb sees the moment he decides on something, or perhaps pieces it together.

“Call your brother from the Wall, Your Grace. Do it now. Offer a hundred men. Offer a thousand. But do it now.”

“Why?” Greatjon asks. “What’s going on inside that twisted head of yours?”

Gods save them all, Roose Bolton smiles. Actually smiles.

“I underestimated Eddard Stark. The realm underestimated Eddard Stark. Jon Snow isn’t your brother. I’d wager his name isn’t Jon Snow at all. He’s a Targaryen.”

“KING! KING!” The raven squawks. “KING!”

Bolton smirks and nods at the raven. “Look. They know. The Gods know who he is. He can turn the tides of this war, Your Grace.”

“The kingsguard,” Jason Mallister murmurs. “I always wondered why the Kingsguard were stationed at the Tower of Joy. They were protecting the true heir. Seven bleeding hells. Eddard fooled us all.”

“Lyanna was a wild girl,” Greatjon recounts. “She had just as much wolf’s blood as Brandon. She wouldn’t have wedded King Robert without a fight. It makes sense.”

Lady Lucienne is sulking in her seat, frowning at her reflection in the polished wood.

“Then it’s true,” Robb says.

“I wanted to keep him safe,” she complains. “I wanted to keep you all safe. I can’t do that if so many people know.”

It’s adorable, really, how she thinks she can keep him safe.

“Alright then. Anyone against relieving my brother of his vows to the Night’s Watch?”

Lady Lucienne scowls.

“Very well. Now, help me figure out how to do it so we can start planning to rescue Sansa.”

In the dead of the night, Grey Wind slinks through the tents, following the scent of vanilla and winter. She’s snuck off deep into the camp. Deep enough that the sounds are loud enough to hammer at his ears and the scent of blood overtakes everything else.

She pauses. Grey Wind lowers himself behind a stack of barrels. She would see him if she were looking for him, but she isn’t. She’s looking for soldiers.

Fabric rustles as she enters the tent. Grey Wind leaps from his hiding place and bounds silently down the lane. He knows better than to enter. Instead, he lies low on the ground and listens.

Another woman startles awake with a cry. Flesh smacks against flesh and the screams are muffled.

“What is your name?” His woman demands.

“T-t-Talisa Maegyr.”

There is a thud and a muffled cry.

“Your name.”

“I told you! Please!”

Another thud, another cry.

“Your. Name.”

“Please. Please. He’ll kill my family!”

“You think I give a fuck?”

Another thud, muffled crying, and another thud. Something cracks. Her scream is too loud to be silenced by a bit of cloth.

“What is your name.”

“J-Jeyne Westerling.”

His woman sighs. “Thank the gods. I though I’d have to kill her too.”

“Wh-“

Her struggle is long and silent as the scent of blood fills the air. Eventually, the other woman’s heart fades to a stop. Grey Wind decides it is time to enter. The blonde woman jumps, raising a bloodied knife.

A beautiful girl with brown skin and dark hair lies on the cot beside her. Two thick cuts go from her wrist to her elbow. As he struggles with the desire to lap at the pooling blood, the blonde woman curls the dead woman’s fingers around the hilt.

The blonde examines the blood on her hands, then looks at Grey Wind with flat black eyes.

“Are you going to kill me?” She asks.

She sounds almost hopeful.

Grey Wind whines.

She laughs bitterly, wildly. “No. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Come on, then. Before someone notices.”

Together, they slink back through the maze of tents and workshops. She steals a misplaced cloak to scrub her hands clean. They are back at the castle in a manner of minutes.

“This is a lot quicker with you here to help.”

He huffs. Of course it is.

“Hey!” A man calls. “What are you doing with the wolf?”

The woman laughs, her nerves showing for the second time of the night. “I don’t know. I was too afraid to say no, to be honest.”

The man winces. “Aye. Can’t blame you there. In you go, quick like.”

They cross the porticulus. Grey Wind can’t help but growl when the door slams shut. He doesn’t like being caged in these places. He wants to run through the snow and trees. He wants to go back where it is cool and the air is sharp and clean, where the water is cold and refreshing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Grace,” the woman says after they’ve gone through enough corridors to be alone.

He whines. She isn’t well enough to be left alone. He doesn’t want to be alone in this hot place that reeks of fear.

She squints her eyes at him. “Absolutely not. That is weird. And what would everyone think?”

Grey Wind huffs, but he lets her leave anyway. She will be his before long.


End file.
